Hated King
by Sarah Haywood
Summary: King John: know as the worst king in English history. How the super-villan of Robin Hood came to be.
1. John and Richard

Disclaimer: Robin Hood is not mine, I wish he was but, *sigh* he's not.  
  
A/N: I guess I am pretty good at writing as if I'm a psychopath... first the Prioress, now King John... Maybe I'm just one of those crazy murderer types... or perhaps I have too much empathy than I should... aw well... enjoy!  
  
Hated King  
  


* * *

  
"Lackland!" Richard shouted across the courtyard, "Lackland, come here!" Richard was a handsome lad of nineteen; his nut brown hair glinted in the sun, his deep blue eyes fierce with anger.  
  
John came, unwillingly to his older brother. How he despised that nickname. It wasn't his fault that his father loved him, not his fault that he had been the only one out of all his brothers not to get any land.  
  
John came up to Richard, dragging his feet. He hated Richard almost as much as the nickname. Richard was dashing and splendid looking and the people adored him. They called him Lionhearted, but John knew he was a bully. Richard could ride a horse, fight with a sword, sing as well as the troubadours who often came to entertain their mother, and put all of John's brothers against him, by the age of nine. John was nine now, but his swordsmanship was poor, he sounded like a frog if he attempted to sing, and the thought of horses sent him hiding behind a tapestry.  
  
"Yes Richard?" John said as he reached the bench where his older brother lay.  
  
"Get me something to drink, I'm thirsty."  
  
"That's a servant's job, Richard." John said incredulously.  
  
"You'll bloody well do as I say, Lackland." Richard took a bite out of an apple. "You're speaking to the future king of England! Why did you call me Richard, slug? Only people above me can call me by my Christian name!" he spat the chewed up bite of apple into John's face. "Are you above me, Lackland?"  
  
"No Richard."  
  
"No what?!"  
  
"No, your majesty."  
  
"That's better. Now get me a drink." Richard hit John over the head. "Hurry up, slug."  
  
John whimpered and ran into the castle. He called for a servant, "Go give Richard a drink." He did not want to face his brother again. He ran up a flight of stairs to his bedroom, where he curled on his bed and shivered with anger. He hated Richard. Richard, his mother's favorite and the people's favorite. He was only the favorite of his father, the king of England. That should have been a good thing, but that made Richard angry and his mother angry. He didn't like his father either. King Henry cheated on Queen Eleanor, his beautiful French wife. It wasn't fair at all. As he lay there, wiping the last traces of apple from his face, something snapped in the little boy's mind... he was going to get back at them all somehow. He would get his revenge on Richard the Lionhearted, he didn't know how, but he would. He was sure of it. 


	2. A Visitor

Well here we go again. This story is a bit of an experiment. It seems to be working though... at least I like it. Tell me how you think.  
  
~*~  
  
John sat in his room, drawing pictures. That was one thing he knew he was good at. He liked the control he had over his drawings. When he drew, he could make someone happy or sad, rich or poor, imaginary or real. He made a good likeness of who he drew, whether it be the saints or a servant in the hall. John was happy. Richard was preoccupied with entertaining his new Saxon friend, his mother was away in Aquitaine, and his father was with some guests who had arrived earlier this morning. He concentrated on his drawing, the birch bark providing a perfect place for his brother to live. John was not allowed parchment, merely because it was too valuable to waste on a boy's doodlings, but birch bark was cheap. Richard's face began to take shape. John grinned malevolently. He was going to have fun with this drawing.  
  
He was interrupted by a banging on his door. John felt a spasm of terror; perhaps Richard was not as busy as he thought. He crumpled his drawing into a ball and kicked under the table. He ran to the door, and opened it, expecting a clout on the head from his older brother. Instead a servant stood, holding a girl by the shoulder. The girl looked frightened, her light brown eyes alert and wide.  
  
"Sire," The servant said. "This is Rebecca. She is visiting with her parents. Here," she lightly pushed Rebecca into the room. "Why don't you entertain her for a while, Sire?"  
  
John frowned. He knew nothing about other children. He had no friends his age. He had no friends, Richard made sure of that. What was he going to do with one of these people in his room?  
  
The servant, however, after depositing her burden walked back to wherever she came from, leaving him to entertain the girl.  
  
Rebecca walked around the room. John followed her, wondering what she wanted to do. He was not used to people. He drew pictures in his room all day, and then tried to show them to his mother to force her to like him. She often was too busy telling her favorite son they ways of chivalry to even speak to John.  
  
"What is your name?" asked Rebecca.  
  
"John."  
  
"Oh. Mine's Rebecca, but I suppose the servant already told you."  
  
John nodded awkwardly.  
  
"I love your room. It's so nice."  
  
"Thank you." John couldn't seem to be able to be able to string a proper sentence together around this strange girl.  
  
"How old are you?" Rebecca was trying valiantly to make conversation. "I'm twelve. How old are you?"  
  
"Almost thirteen." John was surprised. He hadn't thought she was any more than ten.  
  
"My parents are visiting here. My father's a knight." She beamed with pride. "Is your father a knight too?"  
  
John looked amazed. "Don't you know who my father is?!"  
  
"Not a knight then?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"My father is the king of England."  
  
Rebecca did a hasty and surprised curtsy. "Oh I am sorry! I never thought I would meet a real live prince here."  
  
John started laughing. He couldn't help it. The way Rebecca was gazing at him was so comical that he had to laugh. He stopped when he saw her face. "I'm sorry." He apologized hastily. "But you don't need to curtsy with me! I have no rank. It's Richard you should be looking out for; he's the one who will be king."  
  
Rebecca smiled too. "What's Richard like?"  
  
John scowled involuntarily.  
  
"Oh." She caught sight of the crumpled bit of bark on the floor. "What's this?" she tried to pick it up but was stopped by John's arm.  
  
"It's nothing." John pleaded with her mentally to ignore it. "Shall I show you the courtyard?"  
  
"Oh yes! I have always wanted to see a royal garden!"  
  
John walked with her outside, wondering if he was possibly making a friend. 


	3. Richard's Saxon Friend

Disclaimer: *sings off key while strumming out-of-tune lute* Alas! Robin Hood is not miiiiiine! *strings of lute break*  
  
A/N: I'm back! Yay March break and vacations! *hugs all reviewers*  
  
~*~  
  
John led Rebecca down a staircase towards the courtyard, trying to listen to her chatter without bumping into his older brother. She was talking about her home, servants, friends, and as many other things she could think of. She also seemed to be in awe of all the ornate and beautiful things that were in the castle.  
  
"Oh, this is amazing." She commented while touching a well made tapestry of a saint dressed in a white robe holding a small child. "Look at her. She has a natural grace that you can just feel, looking at it. Doesn't it make you want to do something? Like, start a convent or something..."  
  
"I suppose." John answered. He had seen the tapestry countless times, and it had never stirred such...feelings. Rebecca was certainly very strange, but it was a good kind of strange. She could appreciate what was beautiful. He decided he liked her.  
  
They exited the spiral staircase and into the great hall. It appeared to be deserted, but this was one of Richard's favorite haunts. He could not take any chances with a guest that might prove to be his friend. As Rebecca gasped in wonder at the beautiful architecture and artwork, John grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the large doors into the afternoon sun.  
  
It was beautiful, for October. The wind did not have a bite in it yet, and for the first time in a week it was not raining. It smelled of autumn. John was relieved to be out of the great hall. Rebecca however, was not happy at being improperly dragged through the room.  
  
"Why did you do that?" she asked, indignantly.  
  
"I-I'm sorry." John said timidly. "I was- afraid...that R-Richard- would... find us and..." he stuttered, as he always did when he was tense.  
  
"And what?" said a deep voice that John hated. It was Richard.  
  
"N-nothing, brother." John said, cursing his stupidity. Of course Richard would want to be outside on a day like this, after all that rain. John remembered him remarking to his Saxon friend two days before how he would see his archery "Once this bloody rain clears."  
  
Richard stood before his least favorite brother. "What were you saying about me, Lackland?" he asked nastily. "W-were you afraid that R-Richard w- would hurt you?" He said, mocking John's stutter and his high voice. "W- well, we'll have to see. I just happen to have the best archer in England here with me. Robin!" Richard called to his Saxon friend, but he did not appear. Grabbing John's shirt, he turned around, looking for his accomplice.  
  
John saw Rebecca looking on angrily. His heart fluttered a little to see Rebecca angry in his defense, but he did not want her involved in this. "Go away." He mouthed to her. She shook her head no, but the look John gave her changed her mind. She hid behind a hedge just as Richard found his friend and caught his attention. The lad walked up to Richard and his brother, carrying a great longbow.  
  
"Allow me to introduce you two properly. John, this is Robert of Locksley, a Saxon noble with a great gift in archery." Richard said in a mockery of politeness. "Robin, this is my brother," he said 'brother' with a sneer in his voice,' "John Lackland. You may call him simply, 'Lackland', as that is what I call him. He has no real rank or lands, hence the nickname. He's only alive because my father made a mistake in conceiving him."  
  
Robin mocked a bow. "I'm honored."  
  
John glared at both of them.  
  
"Oh, my coward brother is very rude, Robin. I am profoundly sorry. Bow, Lackland."  
  
John stood as stiff as he could make himself. He would not play their little games. He felt Richard's arms on his back pushing him. I will not bow. Not to Richard and his nasty little friend. Richard pushed him until his body bent, and then forced him up again. Beads of sweat rolled down John's face.  
  
"So Robin, do you need to practice your archery? Should we fill my father's little mistake up with arrows and call it an accident?" Richard asked his friend.  
  
He's just trying to frighten me, John thought. Even Richard wouldn't kill his own brother.  
  
"No, I have a better idea." Robin said, grinning malevolently at John. John could tell that this Robin was putty in Richard's hands, as Richard was older than him and obviously valued his friendship. Robin whispered something into Richard's ear. John saw Richard's eyes widen in delight at the mystery torture.  
  
"Excellent!" Richard said grinning hugely. "I'll get the rope, you watch him." Richard ran into the castle. John shuddered in apprehension. Richard would not get this excited unless they were going to do something especially horrible.  
  
Richard returned with rope and they dragged John into the orchard. John noticed Rebecca emerge from the hedge and follow them. Stop! Go away! John thought desperately, but pointlessly. Rebecca was no mind reader, and she hid herself behind a gnarled chestnut tree.  
  
Richard tied John to an apple tree. He plucked a ripe apple and, instead of eating it, tied it to John's head. John had an idea of what those dogs were doing now. They wouldn't dare! It was too dangerous, Robin was too likely to fail!  
  
They would dare. Robin stood fifty paces away from John and aimed and arrow at the apple on top of his head. John was paralyzed with fear. Suppose he misses? He stood perfectly still, praying.  
  
TWANG! Robin had made his shot.  
  
The arrow was forty paces away.  
  
John looked for Rebecca.  
  
The arrow was thirty paces away.  
  
Rebecca would tell his father when he died that he had been murdered.  
  
The arrow was twenty paces away.  
  
Richard would be beheaded. At least he would not have to die unavenged.  
  
The arrow was ten paces away.  
  
John shut his eyes, awaiting his fate...  
  
SPLAT.  
  
The arrow had gone through the centre of the apple, splattering the tree and John with pulp.  
  
Richard greeted his friend with congratulations and they walked away, leaving John tied to the apple tree.  
  
It was silent.  
  
John began to cry. Rebecca ran from her hiding place and untied him. He fell to his knees sobbing. He was not able to stop crying. Rebecca put her arms around him, comforting him. They sat like that for a long while, even after the tears stopped. 


End file.
